Waiting
by bjxmas
Summary: 2.04 CSPWDT - 2.22 AHBL2 4 POVs Dean had been waiting all his life to lose his family. Sam had been waiting for normal. John had been waiting to be reunited with Mary. Bobby had been waiting years to see Dean sacrifice himself for his brother. Life waits
1. Dean

Not exactly hot off the press and not anything new or revealing, but whatcha gonna do? I thought the muse had packed it in and I would just be relaxing for a while and then that last damn scene in CSPWDT just kept creeping into my mind forcing me to replay that one scene over and over again. This started out as a one-shot, quickly evolved into a two-shot and ultimately finished out as a three-shot. Three POVs, guess you can figure out what the next two chapters will be.

Correction: Bobby joined the family, in my mind, in AHBL2 so there is now a fourth chapter concerning Dean's deal. Bobby's POV

_This is for Swan who inspired me to see the beauty and depth of that last scene and get past the shock that the writers would address such a profound issue with a tag at the end of an episode with no real resolution. _

Waiting

Chapter One – Dean

Dean Winchester never really lived, not in the sense of truly embracing life and all the joys it could offer. He had seen too much over the rocky course of his life to expect a happily ever after. Rather, he spent his life waiting: for the next bad omen, for everyone to leave him, for his loved ones to die…, to finally be left all alone.

He perfected his smartass attitude and cocky bravado to hide the terror he felt every morning when he opened his eyes to another possible pain, another impending loss. The most he could hope for was to delay the inevitable; he knew it was coming as sure as he knew evil existed in this world. It was only a matter of time.

He _knew _pain; it was his constant companion, his only friend; not a comfort, but at least a known quantity. His pain was not the pain of injuries or of living on the outskirts of civilization, of never having friends or feeling he belonged. His pain was more primal: the terror of knowing every good feeling or event would be matched and then exceeded by a more devastating anguish. The knowledge that he was doomed and evil would enact its revenge sooner or later. So he waited…

As time passed he found refuge behind his flippant remarks and strong facade, proving to the world and himself that he was a brave, confident man, a man who knew how to handle danger and prevail. His one salvation as he waited for the fates to inflict their final wrath was his job. He could get lost in his work, the one place he felt in control. He knew his job, how to analyze and track and vanquish evil when it dared raise its snarling head.

He could handle the job, his life, well… that was beyond all control, intricately woven into the tapestry of good vs. evil, the picture obscured by fate and destiny, the end result known only by some unseen force, a puppet master playing with his toys.

He had always prided himself on his strength and determination; refusing to ever ask for help, depending only upon his own inherent fortitude to see him through whenever danger presented itself. Everything changed once the Demon possessed his dad and pinned him and his brother to the wall. In a flash of searing pain and excruciating agony he saw the end of his family, starting with his own death and he reached deep within himself and finally the words came, pleading, _begging _for a means to save his family.

"Dad don't you let it kill me. Dad, please."

He had waited his entire life to ask for something and when he did, he initially received nothing for his efforts, nothing except the pain, _always the pain._

"Dad _please._" Eyes pleading with more desperate, harrowing emotion than words could ever convey. _Please Dad, save your family. Show us your love. Save us. Please._

And Dean waited for his dad to save him, _to_ _save his family_. John was paralyzed within his own meat suit and couldn't break free at first, couldn't respond in time. Rivers of blood cascaded down Dean's chest as he heaved for breath, gasping for life as his dad watched and waited in horror. John stood immobilized, trapped in his own flesh prison, watching his older son die.

Weeks after his miraculous cure Dean knew his dad had ultimately answered his pleas, but he never asked for _this_, never _meant for_ _this_. How could Dad think he'd _want this?_ _Not like this Dad, not like this._

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Weeks passed and as he rebuilt the Impala he focused all attention on the car, something concrete he could touch with his hands and shape to his will, nothing like the pain and guilt that lay heavy in his gut rendering him helpless to control his destiny, to reverse his fate. Once the car was finished he searched out another outlet to focus his energy on, another escape to take him away from the reminders of how tragic and fucked up his life had become.

He was at last roaring down the highway again, his beloved Impala fully restored, a new case with a couple of decapitated heads and a pile of dead cows, and his brother by his side, at least for now, so he acted the happy man. _Mr. Sunshine. _

What more could a man ask for? He knew _he_ could never ask for more, he already had his answer and he certainly didn't need to be reminded. His destiny had been written eons before on an ancient tablet with the dire warning, be thankful for the time you have with them, Dad and Sam, cause it won't last. You know it won't, they'll only leave you, sooner or later. _One down, one to go._

_Destiny. Fate. _

So you work the job. You take whatever pride and sense of worth you can in defeating evil one more time. Sam looks at you like you're losing it and he's probably right. Hell, you _know_ he's right. If you get lost in your job then maybe you can forget how much you really stand to lose, and how much you've already watched slip away.

You take whatever pleasure you can in killing something, _anything_. If it's supernatural you kill it. It's what you do, the only thing that eases your pain. Hell, you'd told Sam that way back in the day.

"I'll tell you what else helps. Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can."

Problem now is it's no longer helping. You felt the adrenaline surge, your fervor burning hot like molten lava through your body, as you decapitated that fang with the industrial saw, blood splattering across your face, one red streak running down the side of your nose like the tracks of your tears. Your vacant, dead eyes glanced for just a moment at the look of horror on your brother's face…, appalled at your actions and _terrified…_, afraid _of you_ and _for you_, and then you felt _nothing_. Not even a release, nothing but the hole growing larger, taunting you, mocking you, reminding you you can't hide from your destiny.

You never believed in fate or destiny before, a man makes his own fate, controls his own destiny, but now…everything is jacked, nothing makes sense anymore, not since….

"Oh man, I've been itching for a hunt." You'd confessed to Gordon.

"Dean, it's not a crime to need your job."

Gordon and you, _the same, born_ _to do this,_ not like Sammy. No, Sammy's _different,_ not wrong, just different and you wish _you_ could be different, cause the problem is the hunt isn't doing it for you anymore. It just isn't the same and you know it never will be again.

You need that rush; the adrenaline of the hunt coursing through your veins to tell you you're still alive and not dead like your mind says you should be. A distant voice echoes in your head whispering you _were _dead. The dead should stay dead. You repeat that mantra over and over, knowing the truth of it, knowing the truth of Dad. Knowing you can't face Sam cause he was his dad too. And you're sorry, _sorry for everything._ You feel yourself buckling under the pressure of this guilt on top of all the pain that's already consuming you.

Maybe you're like the zombie, what came back isn't quite right, isn't really _you_. You're lost without Dad and the hole just keeps growing and you don't think you'll ever be right again.

Twice now you've cheated the reaper; twice now innocent men have died in your place. _Why do you deserve to live more than them?_ More than Layla? You feel cursed, not blessed, the weight more than you can bear. The dead should stay dead.

And the hollow empty feeling just keeps expanding, dark and ominous. You thought you could fill it with revenge or justice or what the hell, _anything_, but it just keeps pressing on your heart and soul and growing. You wasted the vampire, you impaled the zombie back into her grave and it doesn't help, _nothing helps_, the hole just grows deeper, a black abyss more overpowering than ever and you feel yourself disappearing into the darkness.

Every good deed deserves….Hell, you _know _what you deserve, what you've always been given: your worst fears realized. Yeah, that's _it_, that's all there is. You've spent your life waiting and hoping it won't happen and here it is. Dad's dead and it's all your fault. Man, it doesn't get any worse than that.

"I always thought nothing could get my dad. My dad's indestructible, he'll always be around. Nothing can kill my dad and just like that….he's gone." A snap of the fingers and the haunting look in your eyes betrays your pain.

Evil couldn't best your dad, only love could kill him. The taste is bitter in your mouth, the knowledge repugnant and you just want to howl at the wind and curse the gods, so you beat the Impala with a crow bar until your hands are numb from the impacts and the bar slips away, clanking loudly to the ground. You are heaving so hard you wish your heart would just burst and release all the pain held inside, but it can't, you won't let it, and the anguish is eating you up inside and devouring you. You are exhausted from your fury, but still it doesn't solve anything, it doesn't ease your pain. _Nothing does._

Sam keeps baiting you, trying to get you to share and care, but you know it's only a matter of time until he'll leave you too, so you push him away. You keep your distance cause it will hurt less, you can't let him see inside your soul cause then you know you couldn't take it when he leaves, and _you know he'll leave_, sooner or later. You can't tell him what's the matter, you can't open that door cause the fucking bull behind it will trample you both to death. So you barricade the door with silence and denial and wait.

Damn that bull, he's a tough motherfucker. He's not gonna stay buried in the basement for long, you can feel him ramming the door, and you know it's only a matter of time 'til it breaks down…, 'til _you_ break down. That door never was that sturdy, you always meant to reinforce it but instead damnit, Sam's been picking at the lock for the last year. Almost got it open, didn't he?

And then you face the cold hard truth, no longer able to pretend any different. Dad's dead and it's all your fault. You can't hide from the pain any longer. The pain is all you have and you know you can't bear it alone, but you can't share this with Sammy, it would only make him leave you sooner. Or pity you. And you can't take that, never could.

"I can't talk about this to Sammy. No, I got to keep my game face on, but the truth is, I'm not handling it very well." So you choose to confide in Gordon…, _in Gordon?_ Like you really _have _anyone else? Anyone but Sammy will have to do…, cause you can't let Sammy see you broken and scared… _vulnerable_.

Hell, the pain is here and the waiting is over. All the anguish of anticipation hasn't dulled this pain at all. It is stronger and more vociferous than you could have ever imagined. And the one person who might be able to shield you and take on some of the responsibility is gone.

_Dad, where are you when I need you?_

_I can't do this alone. I'm not that strong, I never was. Sam looks so lost now, like a fragile little boy, his heart breaking over the pain of losing you. He keeps asking me to share, asking me to open that door and I can't…. I won't. I can't be weak in front of Sammy; I have to be strong now. _

_And then you had to burden me with that damn secret on top of everything else and I feel like I'm going to just snap in two. Damn it Dad, it's too much. I don't know how to do this; I don't know how to make this better… I don't know how to fill this hole in my gut. But I know you're depending on me so I've got to get my shit together, I've got to be strong. _

_You told me, "I want you to watch out for Sammy, OK?" _

"_Yeah Dad, you know I will." My last promise to you Dad, damn I can't break that promise. I won't._

"When someone's gone, they should stay gone. You don't mess with that kind of stuff."

Why Dad, _why?_ You _know_ the rules. _What's dead should stay dead._

Then Sammy's banging on that damn door again, begging you to stop the tailspin, to pull out of your nosedive and let him help you.

"Dean, it's killing you, _please. _We've already lost Dad. We lost Mom. I've lost Jessica and now I'm going to lose you too?"

And then you see the fear and desperation in his eyes, the windows to his soul flung open revealing his own unbearable pain, and it's like looking in a mirror and you realize you're not alone. He's waiting too, to lose everyone he's ever loved and suddenly you know you have to unlock that door.

Your heart is beating so hard you think it's going to burst. Your palms are sweating on the leather grip of the steering wheel and your mind is racing and you can't slow it down as you pull the car off the road and step out into the mountain air. You are more terrified of voicing your dark secret than facing the demon, but less afraid of that than disappointing Sammy any longer. You can feel his pain, you know his anguish and you know he needs to be allowed to help you, still…. you don't believe there's anything he can say.

You tell him everything you've been mulling over the last few weeks, all the suspicions and concerns, the bitter truth of it all. He'd said he wanted to know what you were feeling. _Beware of what you wish for Sammy._ You rip open your heart and expose your very soul to him as you turn with tears in your eyes.

"But Dad's dead because of _me_ and that much I do know. I never should have come back Sam; it wasn't natural and now look what's come of it. I was _dead_ and I should have stayed dead."

A lone tear breaks free and runs down your cheek, hanging on as you catch a glimpse of your brother. No attempt to mask your pain now, sliced open for all to see.

"You wanted to know how I was feeling. Well, that's it. So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that all right?"

There. You said it. You revealed your darkest, deepest pain and Sam is speechless. You wait for him to say something, _anything_. The truth doesn't change the harsh reality…, the guilt, the pain is still consuming you. The only difference is now Sam knows your pain and is there by your side.

_Silently you wait._

At least now you're waiting together.

TBC


	2. Sam

Chapter Two – Sam

Sam Winchester waited eighteen years for his real life to begin, for normal to transport him from the surreal existence his dad and the Demon placed him in and offer up the semblance of an ordinary life. He waited for a life not filled with evil and weird, unexplainable occurrences that caused him to hide who he truly was, even from those closest to him, like Jess.

He hoped and prayed for a normal, loving relationship with Jessica, who loved him even though she couldn't really know him, at least not the past he hid. He abandoned his whacked-out family and settled into the common, everyday existence of an average college student.

He had finally escaped his 'destiny' as Dad termed it, escaped with the help of a full ride scholarship to one of the most prestigious schools in the country. At Stanford he was sure he could leave behind his warped upbringing and finally have the life he always dreamed of. Once there amid the normal people he so wanted to emulate, he realized the fallacy of his dream.

He never did fit in with the regular people at Stanford, although he tried his best to convince himself he could be just like them, as normal as they come, _Joe College_. In the end, he was a 'freak' as his brother so fondly referred to him, before Dean assured him he was "right there with him". Yeah, after fighting Dad and their deviant lifestyle his entire life, he was finally forced to admit he wasn't really 'normal' material.

"Sir, we don't want to go to school, and we don't want regular… we want this."

"Were you just saying that to Cooper, or were you, you know, saying it?"

Dean looks at you with wary eyes, hesitant to believe. You sense the hurt there, lingering behind sad eyes, the silent wonder of _why_ you would all of a sudden choose the hunting life, when back in Chicago you had only hurt him with your vehement desire to return to school, to leave him yet again, even after Dean had stepped beyond his protective wall for a moment and revealed his only desire in life: to have his brother and dad with him, together as a family again.., like it used to be.., like it _could be_ again.

"Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job."

"Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want."

"Since he died, OK?"

And you see the pain deepen, and you know what Dean is thinking, his eyes again an open window into his soul revealing his deepest hurts and fears. You see the glimmer of hope and the ever present fear, still afraid you'll leave him. _I'm not going to leave you, Dean. Not now, not after this. You're all I have now._

What wounds his heart the most is the knowledge you wouldn't change your plans to ease _his_ pain, no…, you wouldn't stay for your own _living brother_, but now you'll totally reverse course to please your _dead dad_. You can see Dean processing that harsh realization, your actions like a knife twisting in his gut, and you can think of nothing to lessen the pain of that truth. _Guess I'm as messed up as the rest of my warped family._

You don't know how to explain it except to say you'd waited most of your life to bond with Dad, to feel a fraction of the closeness Dean had always shared with him, to put aside the fighting and angry words and just meet for once on common ground. You had just begun to gain an understanding of him, facilitated by your parallel histories.

"We're not different, not anymore. With what happened to Mom and Jess… we probably have a lot more in common than just about anyone."

"I guess you're right son."

Then Dad smiled and for the first time you connected with him as a man, united in mutual grief and the thirst for revenge against this Demon that had taken so much from both of you.

It felt good to stop the fighting and share this comradery, to see your dad in a new light and finally understand _why. _To feel what he felt and know what he knew, damn… you wouldn't wish these feelings on your worst enemy, but it ultimately brought about insight, and you forgave him for the first time, finally understanding the pain of his loss and the call of his vengeance.

The peace between you didn't last, old habits don't stay buried for long with the Winchesters, maybe you should have tried to salt and burn them, exorcise away the bad blood? Dad couldn't change the way he ran the show and you just couldn't let it be, like Dean could. You still can't understand Dean's ability to let Dad call the shots. As competent and fierce as Dean is, he always acquiesced to Dad's will, another piece of the puzzle that doesn't quite fit concerning your brother, another dichotomy within his bent mind.

All the years estranged and you had waited for Dad to make the first move, waited for him to reach out the olive branch. You wanted him to apologize for forcing this life upon you and your brother, for being that drill sergeant instead of the father you both needed, for denying you a normal life. And now you could see into his heart and know his pain as your own, and you knew the bitter truth, as Dean had so plainly pointed out.

"It's a two-way street dude; you coulda picked up the phone."

And you regret you never did, pride or hurt or stubbornness guarding that road. All those years of waiting wasted, lost now with no chance to ask forgiveness. Hell, you tried to pick a fight with him the last time you saw him. The guilt over that, the constant headbutting and arguing over nothing, _nothing important_, festers in your soul. _Last regrets._

_Too little. Too late._

The harsh reality of Dad's death is like a stake through your heart. You wish you could rewind the past and say all the things you never said, that foolish pride and stubbornness prevented you from voicing. Dad's gone and you can't bring him back or fix past mistakes. All you can do is try to hold on to the last of your family, _hold on to Dean_.

You had waited since you were thirteen for Dean to stop using a chubby twelve year old's name for you. Dean was hardly dumb and you thought it was only his stubborn contrary nature that persisted in calling you by your childhood name. Sammy was a child who no longer existed, why couldn't your brother understand that? Why did he persist in refusing to use your rightful name, your grownup name? _It's Sam!_

Gordon called you Sammy _once_.

"He's the only one that gets to call me that." And Dean smiled ever so slightly, and you felt good for a brief moment, just seeing the pleased look on your brother's face, seeing genuine happiness for the first time since….

You hadn't even realized the shift, when it became all right to be called Sammy again. You suddenly realized you preferred Sammy, but only from Dean. The name drew you closer to your brother, reaffirmed your childhood bond. It reminded you of a simpler time: when Dean was your protector, when life wasn't so damn complicated, when your family was still as intact as you had ever known it to be. You now knew Dean was again desperate for _Sammy: _his kid brother, the one who looked up to him and loved him unconditionally, the one who would _never _leave him.

The fractured distance between you and your brother, those lost years of no communication, had been your own fault. You had been the one to insist on striking out alone, leaving your family behind and escaping the life of a hunter. You had finally succeeded in becoming Sam when you deserted your family and abandoned your brother. How could you be so selfish as to ignore your family for two years? Two years without your brother in your life. Two years of missed calls and avoided appointments. _Two lost years._

You don't regret leaving the life, trying to be normal for once, after all that really shouldn't be too much to ask. What you regret is the estrangement from your only brother, a brother who devoted his entire life to your happiness and then you discarded him along with all the other unsavory details of your life, like yesterday's news. A time now you would just as soon let Dean forget, that you yourself would like to forget, but the scars of the past are not so easily erased.

Throughout your life Dean has been your one constant: your rock. The one person you could always count on to be there for you, to always have your back. Now you're waiting for him to let you into his secret world, to reveal what's knocking around inside his messed up head, cause you _know_ Dean isn't all right, he's far from it. So you wait and hope he'll open up to you before he spirals out of control and self-destructs.

"You were right about me and Dad. I'm sorry that the last time I was with him I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him. So you're right, what I'm doing right now, it is too little, it's too late. I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell and I'm not all right…not at all…but neither are you, that much I know."

And then you wait for Dean to be your big brother again, to tell you it's all right, to offer up some comfort to make _you _feel better, cause that's what Dean does, what he's _always_ done. Dean puts his own pain aside and takes care of his family. And you realize just how deep your brother's pain must run, cause you now know his pain is too overwhelming for him to cast aside even temporarily, and you are met with an empty stare and silence.

And then you finally understand the depths of his pain whether he will share it or not, cause if Dean can stand there and sullenly look on as you wallow in guilt and pain and not offer support then his own pain must be even more devastating.

When he is no longer allowed the denial of his pain, his last response to control his anguish is to lash out with anger.

"Dude, I'm OK, I'm OK, all right? The next person who asks me if I'm OK, I'm gonna start throwing punches."

And then he did. You saw it coming even though it seemed to shock your brother. You knew you were pushing his buttons, you knew you were gonna get a reaction, and _you wanted it. _Any reaction at least gave you hope his walls were not completely impenetrable.

"You don't think I can see what this is?"

"What are you talking about?"

"He's a substitute for Dad, a poor one."

"Shut up Sam."

"He's not even close, Dean. Not on his best day. Dad's dead and he left a hole and it hurts so bad you can't take it, but you can't just fill up that hole with whoever you want to. It's an insult to his memory."

"OK." And then it came, one swift right hook to your jaw.

The distance between you again filled with silence. Just the glare, _leave me the fuck alone Sam._

_No, Dean._

You wonder if that's what he truly wants or if he's just scared cause you're getting close, you're chipping away at that protective wall he constructed ages ago to shield him from the pain of his life. You know he must be close to breaking; he was so close when Dad was kidnapped by Meg, God knows what Dad's death will ultimately do to him.

"Sam, look. The three of us…that's all we have. And it's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man. Without you or Dad, I…"

_You're not alone in this Dean, I'm here. Please let me help you. We can help each other; we're all we have left, please let me in._

Once Dad died you surely started losing your brother. The chasm between you seemingly impassable as you stand on opposite sides of the Grand Canyon, your brother poised on the edge of a sheer cliff, perilously close to stepping off into thin air and plunging to the bottom of the canyon like the dozen or so visitors that lose their lives each year over the rocky terrain. You keep trying to reach him to no avail, you stand on opposite sides of the canyon and shouts or bridges can't span the distance. At times you can't even see him through the early morning fog that casts the canyon in an eerie, surreal haze.

So you wait to lose the last person in your life. You've already lost Dad, Mom and Jess and now you're waiting to lose your brother. You can feel him slipping away, physically still present, but emotionally inaccessible.

Dean is spiraling out of control, a skydiver in a freefall and you keep waiting for him to pull the ripcord and he doesn't, almost like he's mesmerized by the land rushing up to greet him and can't tear his eyes away long enough to realize he needs to pull that ripcord _now _or it will be too late. You feel powerless to stop it, the tailspin, the spiraling downward. You're pleading with him to tell you what he's feeling, but Dean adamantly insists he's fine. _Yeah Dean, you're fine…. like a daredevil leaping from a plane with a sack of potatoes strapped to his back._

Then you see the cracks breaking wide open and it's a terrifying sight. You'd always known the Winchester men were capable of inflicting terrible violence, hell it's what Dad trained his sons to do. You're soldiers in a war and _war is hell_, and damnit if it isn't ugly and nasty and brutal, still… this was so cold, so detached…

To see Dean so lethal and void of compassion, to witness him viciously sawing off that vamp's head, the blood splattering across him like a Pollack painting, and to see the emptiness in his eyes. Your heart froze at the image of your brother's final descent; the depths of his despair shaking you to your core as a polar chill bristled the hairs on the back of your neck.

But you know you have to keep trying, to somehow reach your brother before he succumbs to the dark depths of the abyss. All his life Dean has given himself to his kid brother, protected you and loved you. Now you're just waiting to return that devotion, to finally be allowed to help big brother for once. Then opportunity finally comes, and you freeze.

Dean pulls to the side of the road and stands by the Impala. You can see the wheels turning in his mind and you knows this is huge, the dam is about to burst. Dean leans back against the hood of the Impala for support and you silently sit beside him, hesitantly waiting for the grand reveal.

After weeks of pushing you away, his candor is shocking, he opens his heart and soul as tears fill his eyes and he lays bare his pain and guilt. Pain so immense you feel the air sucked from your lungs and you understand your brother's anguish as time itself gasps, the weight of his pain staggering and you are merely sitting beside him, not actually bearing the weight, rather just bearing witness to it. Words desert you, his pain so real and raw, and you know the truth of what he says. You've thought the same thing, but you can't tell him that. For once you need to keep your own secrets.

You can't tell him you're glad he's alive, just like you were when he was saved by Reverend LeGrange and Marshall died. As devastated as you are to lose Dad you know _you would be lost_ _without Dean_. As much as you hate that Dad died and how you _do miss him_, you're so grateful he loved Dean enough to give him the gift of life. Oh God, how can you tell him _that?_ That given the choice, God help you, you would _always _choose Dean to live, _regardless of who had to die._

And maybe Dad knew that. Maybe Dad knew this was a gift to both his sons and damn, doesn't that make _your own guilt_ _even deeper?_ Dean didn't want this, would have refused it if given the choice, and you…as painful as it is to admit…, you would have wanted this, _chosen this_.

Dean's right. What could you possibly say to make this all right?

So you're waiting. Waiting for the right words of comfort so you can ease your brother's pain. No words come, so you wait. You want to comfort him without adding to his suffering, without giving him more reason to take on pain and guilt.

_I know you, Dean; you take on pain like Mother Teresa took on the poor of Calcutta._

Silently you sit by your brother's side, hoping he feels your support, yet unable to offer anything more.

_You sit in silence, waiting for the words that elude you._

At least now you're waiting together.

TBC


	3. John

Chapter Three – John

John Winchester waited twenty-three years before he found the love of his life and as these things often happen it was just chance that he met her at all. If he had turned down the right aisle instead of getting turned around in that huge warehouse monstrosity he would have picked up his purchases, paid and left without ever having met her. On more than one occasion in the months following the fire he pondered if he should wish for that, then at least Mary would still be alive, not with him, but somewhere in this world, alive and safe.

Those thoughts didn't linger long; all he need do was look into her hazel-green eyes reflecting back to him through their older son and hear the sweet sound of gurgling from baby Sammy to know he could never regret that meeting. As much as he loved and missed Mary, he would never trade his sons' lives for her life, and he knew their mother would willingly surrender her existence if it meant her children would have the chance to live.

Little Dean and Sammy were the shining proof of all the love John shared with Mary and although their time together was too short, it was full of great love. So much love that when she was taken away, he waited years for the pain to diminish. It never did.

The first time he saw Mary, she was patiently waiting her turn to speak with the clerk at the hardware counter even though it was obvious she only wished to be home in bed nursing the cold that was savagely attacking her. She was at the lock display board trying to pick out a chain for her front door, sneezing and dabbing a wadded up tissue to her runny nose.

Funny how she had been concerned about safety, but was about to allow the stranger she would meet to come to her apartment to install that chain.

John just had a certain charm, not the Ted Bundy all smooth and evil psycho killer charm, but the down home, regular guy, help you out in a bind, charm. Mary had just fallen under the spell of this cold and was sniffling the whole time and still he thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her eyes soft hazel-green orbs that shone like an angels, her very soul beaming through her tender gaze, her essence serene and luminous as she stood at the counter, that damn tissue twisted in her hand ready for the next sneeze.

He was four months out of the service and had just taken a job at a garage specializing in restoring classic cars. Heading home after work on that Friday night he was tired from a long afternoon wrestling with a '56 Ford carburetor that refused to fire properly, and had just stopped in to pick up some charcoal and barbecue tools so he could fire up the old grill that had been abandoned at his rental unit. It had been a hard week with more than a few opportunities, and a thick steak on the grill with a few cold ones sounded like just the ticket to a relaxing evening.

Mary's plans for the evening centered around a warm cup of chicken broth and the Times #1 bestseller to curl up with before heading to bed early, hoping she could ward off this cold before it took up permanent residence. Content with her friends and her life she hadn't even realized she was waiting for her one true love until he appeared, and in an instant all that she knew and had planned for her life was hastily cast aside.

She had never before been a 'pickup', having always been the voice of caution, warning her friends about the predatory wolves out there looking to devour the hapless. But this handsome young man standing before her with his dimpled smile and sparkling eyes hardly looked like a danger, what with his worn jeans and grease covered t-shirt, his hands rough and calloused, obviously a hard worker. She could see the devil in him in his laughing brown eyes, while his rich, deep voice caressed her like hot cocoa, making her feel warm and _safe_.

The first words he spoke made her laugh and all her defenses lowered. He laughed in turn and she knew….and he knew.…

He raced by his apartment for a quick shower and a clean change of clothes, nothing fancy, just clean. After all this wasn't a date, he was just going to help her out by installing a chain on her door. Ten minutes after he arrived at her walk-up apartment the chain was on, all safe and secure, not really in a rough neighborhood, but not the best. Better safe than sorry.

She offered him a beer from the fridge and secretly took another swig of her cold medicine. She had changed too, again nothing fancy, just nice. She had let her long blond hair down; it had been pulled back into a ponytail at the store. Still no makeup, just flawless ivory skin with a hint of freckles across her nose, maybe a touch of mascara, he wasn't quite sure about those things, but her eyes stood out, alive with passion even though he could tell her cold was fighting to take her down.

Both having not yet eaten, they decided to order Chinese delivery. Her appetite not good, but she needed to eat something and the Chicken and Spinach soup was supposed to have medicinal properties. John was not overly experienced with Chinese cuisine, but tried the sweet and sour pork with noodles. She laughed at him as he stubbornly tried for minutes to master the chopsticks before admitting defeat and accepting the fork she offered.

Her fortune cookie read, _"Great love cannot be measured in days, but is eternal."_

His cookie said, _"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."_

They snuggled on the couch, tentative at first, before he pulled the worn handmade quilt over her shoulders to help still her chills, his strong arms wrapping around her, enveloping her with his warmth and concern.

He flicked the channels on the remote before finally settling on an old movie on Turner Classic Movies, a comedy, Cary Grant in 'I was a Male War Bride'. She loved listening to his deep, rumbling laugh, and he laughed often, deeply amused by this movie, or perhaps nervously trying to stay cool. The rhythm of his laughter almost lulling her to sleep, as her head rested comfortably against his shoulder.

They shared a quiet evening with few words, just a gentle easy familiarity that felt comfortable and right, but also strangely vibrant, the glimmer of electricity that would fuel their passion through their time together. She finally drifted off to sleep as the credits rolled and he leaned over and gently kissed her forehead as he stroked her shimmering locks, so soft beneath his calloused fingers. She murmured and opened her eyes staring into the kindest, most sincere face she had ever seen, and her heart fluttered. She had never before felt her heart flutter, oh it had stirred on occasion, but not like this, _nothing like this._

"How about I call you tomorrow, make sure you're feeling better?"

"I'd love to hear from you, let me give you my number." She reached for a pad to jot down her number before he stopped her.

"No need. Got it right here." He pointed to his head with a cocky smile.

She gave him a puzzled look before he grinned again as he explained, "Got it off your phone. Sleep tight. I'll call you."

He stood in the hallway waiting to hear the chain slide into place before walking down the four floors, a slight hop in his step as he stepped out into the warm summer air.

Seven months passed and they could no longer wait to start their life together. With little money to spare, they were spending their honeymoon in her walk up apartment with a temperamental furnace that had just decided that morning to surrender to old age and go off to that junkyard in the sky.

Their laughter again filled the night as they improvised and discovered other ways to keep each other warm. Their laughter and love would continue to fill many days and nights over the six years they were blessed to have together, before destiny dealt its devastating blow.

Barely a year after the wedding, John waited to bring his first son into this world. It was a difficult pregnancy and birth, the last month spent in bed rest and then over twenty-two hours of hard labor, but it was worth it when they held their golden boy in their arms. That was the only time Dean ever proved difficult, thereafter it was as if he was forever apologizing for his tempestuous arrival by being the most considerate and easy baby God had ever created.

Throughout his life, Dean was always the easy one, the considerate child, _Mary's son,_ through and through. The light in John's life and the promise that Mary would never truly be gone as long as Dean walked this earth.

Four years later, John waited for Sammy to complete their family and they welcomed the exact opposite of his big brother. They say the second child is easier and the birth definitely was; they were lucky he didn't pop out before they even reached the hospital. The difficulty with Sammy came later.

Sam fought John at every opportunity, always questioning, always speaking his mind, always demanding attention. So different from his brother, yet John could not love one son more or less than the other. But with Sammy, he always waited for the next fight, for the angry confrontation, for the inevitable explosion and the ultimate fear: that Sammy would want to leave. John waited and two months after he graduated high school Sam fulfilled his silent promise and left for college.

So then John waited for Sammy's return. He waited for his family to once more be whole, as whole as it could ever again be without Mary. In the end, Dean was the only one who could reunite his dad and brother, the unifying force of the Winchesters, _their heart and soul_. He had once more pulled his brother back into the fight, had once more united with his brother in this battle against evil.

"I think we should do this together. We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it."

"I guess we are stronger as a family. So, we go after this damn thing together."

Dean had accomplished what John had only dreamed of: the Winchester men united together to hunt this Demon. John's pride in his sons had never been stronger, not just pride in their skills, but pride in the men they had become, the bond they now shared.

John had waited twenty-three years to kill the Demon that had shattered his perfect life and sent him down this long, hard road of retribution. He had waited for the battle to be over so he could at long last offer his sons a chance at a better life, without the pain or loss, without the hardship of the hunt, to at last regain a sense of normalcy in their lives. He had waited since Mary died to reclaim the little boys that were lost somewhere in the depths of darkness that night, children forced to grow up too soon, denied their childhood as they took up arms against evil.

After the fire he focused all his energy on vanquishing evil, and he waited for his opportunity to again focus his attention on his sons, on being their father. Mainly he waited for the chance to show his sons how much he truly loved them: more than vengeance, more than killing evil, more than destroying this Demon…, more than life itself. He told himself he always knew his priorities, he always knew his sons came first, that's why he was doing this in the first place, _for his sons_. _To keep them safe, to insure they lived._

During dark nights of lonely, bitter reflection when he could bear to be brutally honest he knew he had failed them miserably on more than one occasion. He had forgotten more than once that love and family were the most important aspects in his life, and let the revenge his heart sought taint his objectives. Now he waited for his chance to right that wrong.

He had started plotting to save Dean's life as soon as he heard of his son's condition. He would not live and let his son die for the sins of the father. He had been immobilized in his fucking meat suit and couldn't stop the terrible pain of that Demon ripping open Dean's chest, but he would be damned if he would stand by now and watch his son die. He had already been perilously close to that and given this temporary reprieve, he was not about to squander it.

He didn't consider any other possibilities, there were none. That faith healer had been a one in a million shot, and they didn't have time to search out another. _Dean didn't have time_. Dean had taken care of his family his entire life and now John finally had the chance to take care of him. A chance he would never pass up.

"If only your boys knew how much their daddy loved them."

He had waited to show his sons how much he loved them and finally he had his chance. He would not let his son die, _he couldn't,_ and no price was too steep.

He had waited to pass the torch to his sons, to hand over this battle to them to finish. Dean was strong, stronger than he could possibly realize and together his sons were even stronger.

There was a time when Sam left for Stanford that John worried his sons would never regain their close bond, but he now knew just how close they had grown over the course of this past year. United his boys could conquer anything. He knew Sam needed Dean more than his dad, more than anyone, that Dean was the key to Sam's survival.

He knew Dean would figure out the truth of this deal, hell it didn't take a genius and both his boys were plenty sharp. Dean would be hurt, and would feel guilt, but together he knew his boys could overcome that. _They had to. They had a job to do._ He had been waiting his entire life to watch his boys turn into men and it had happened without him even realizing it. They were capable and strong, _evil's worst nightmare_.

John waited half his lifetime for this war to be over, to finally be at peace and release the pain of losing Mary and when the time came to end it he never looked back. This was _his destiny_, to save his older son, and in so doing save his younger. Dean was the wild card in this battle; he would be the catalyst for victory.

"He isn't much of a threat. And neither is your other son."

The Demon said he was no threat, that neither of his boys was a threat, and John smiled. John knew the Demon was playing with fire, living in denial. _Good, all the better for our team._

John knew the truth. His boys were the answer to this Demon. His sons united together could overcome anything and would. He had waited twenty-three years to conquer this Demon, so if it took his dying to bring that about, well the price was worth it.

He had waited for this chance to get everything he desired: to insure his sons would live, to defeat this Demon, and to finally be free of this struggle and perhaps if the fates allowed be reunited with Mary in whatever afterlife might exist. _It was a good deal. _ Not bad for one antique pistol and a tired hunter's life.

TBC

bjxmas November, 2006

All standard disclaimers apply.

A fourth chapter was added as a tag to AHBL2. A Bobby chapter concerning Dean's deal to save Sammy.


	4. Bobby

I thought this story was complete with the viewpoints of the three Winchesters, but I was wrong. This is a tag to AHBL2 when, in my mind, Bobby cemented his role as part of the family. If we can't have John around as much as we would like, then let us have _Uncle_ Bobby.

Chapter Four – Bobby

Bobby had been waiting seventeen years to finally see Dean sacrifice his life for his brother. All the signs had been there from the start; hell, a blind man could've seen it coming. Still, John never saw it, not really. John encouraged it, demanded it even, but never really believed it would ever come to pass, but Bobby knew. Knew his family was all Dean lived for, all he ever cared about, all he had. John focused on the Demon and revenge and Dean went along, for his dad…. for his mom…, but his heart was never really in it. Dean's heart was captured from the beginning in soft, chubby hands. His kid brother gripping his heart tight in a vise hold, Dean's whole existence wrapped around one tiny finger.

As the boys grew up, nothing much changed except the hands holding Dean's heart were now strong and firm, skilled in fighting and proficient in killing evil. Bobby watched and waited. Dean's love still held firm by his brother's ever loosening grasp, now tentative at best. Another man might have slipped from the open hand, surrendered to the freedom and pursued his own needs when Sam's grip released him, never fully realizing the power he wielded over his older brother. Even when Sam left his family, deserted his destiny, and tried living a normal life, he still held his brother's life in his hands. He just never knew it, but Bobby did.

The first time Bobby ever laid eyes on Dean, he held a gun in his trembling hands and warned the seasoned hunter to "hold it right there, you son of a bitch". Under different circumstances, in another time or place, with another child behind the sight, Bobby might have found the situation amusing, even downright comical; but given the steely look of determination in the eyes of the young boy and the rough tone of his voice, he held firm waiting for the slide of this boy's finger on the trigger. He stopped dead in his tracks and waited for reason to temper the young boy's fury. He waited for fate to intervene and spare him. Staring death in the face that cold November night, he searched his mind for the right words to stave off his execution and release him from the grips of this formidable child.

_Bobby Singer at the mercy of a ten year old boy. Damn….that was embarrassing._

Reason prevailed and he lived, thanks to his own calm response and Dean's innate humanity, the boy not yet possessing the will to kill. Bobby wondered when all that changed, when Dean became the killing machine he now was, brutal and lethal when circumstances demanded, or if it meant saving either his brother or his dad. Evil's worst nightmare, prepared to do whatever it took to protect his family. He knew Dean worried about it, feared what he was capable of, what he was becoming, but Bobby never worried about that….he only worried about Dean…. and the price he was willing to pay for his brother, for his family. He should have known a deal like this was inevitable. John should have seen the precedence he was setting. Sam, of all people, should at least understand…._finally._

Dean would do _anything_ for his family and most especially Sammy…._his Sammy_…._his responsibility_….the one he valued above all else….above his own life. What else could he be expected to do when the last of his family was finally torn from his grip by the forces of evil? He certainly wasn't going to bury his brother and simply walk away. That wasn't an option for Dean Winchester, not when he knew an alternative. Not when there was a way to reverse this travesty, regardless of the cost. No price was too high to save his brother, to save his Sammy. He promised Dad he'd save him, he promised Mom he'd protect him, he promised himself all those years ago that nothing would ever hurt his brother…._nothing_. He sure as hell wasn't going to let his failure cost his brother his life. It was his _job _to take care of him, the one true focus in his life, and he'd made too many promises to fail him now. Dean didn't break promises. His word was his bond, so he did what needed to be done. _Like always._

No regrets. No excuses. It had to be done. _At least in Dean's mind._

Over the years Dean had stood alongside his dad in John's battles and pledged to fight evil, to protect the innocents, to save the world. He'd already spent his entire life fulfilling that solemn vow. A storm was brewing, had been for some time, but the omens had gotten worse. Hell, ain't that an understatement? Not just bad…. _end of the world_ _bad_. Dean needed to get back in the fight. He needed to bury his brother and move on. Harsh, but that was their reality…. _the reality of the hero_.

And for the first time since Dean took up arms against the evil of this world he said no. _No more promises to give._

"Dean, I could use your help."

"You don't think I've given enough? You don't think I've paid enough? I'm done with it. All of it."

_Yeah son, you have. You have __now__. You had __before__ you made that godforsaken deal. What the hell were you thinking?_

Dean deserved some peace in his lifetime, some imitation of happiness. A chance at a normal, routine existence far from the war he had participated in since he was a child. Bobby had waited all these years to see him shed the life of a hunter and find some measure of a life, some small, insignificant piece of the American Dream. Dean never asked for much, probably never even dreamed of more, but he certainly deserved it. He deserved _something_ good….for once. He certainly never deserved _this_. He never deserved an eternity in Hell after spending his short life here on earth embedded in a living hell.

To unknowing eyes Dean appeared content, cocky and in control. There was no denying Dean was confident and strong, comfortable taking on any man or beast, cool and collected with the ladies, level-headed and formidable under the most treacherous circumstances, yet his opinion of himself always centered around how well he took care of his family. If _they_ were safe and happy and protected, then he had worth. If not….

Bobby waited for Dean to acknowledge his own worth, his intrinsic value beyond family; to recognize his own inherent goodness and purpose in this world, a destiny beyond protecting his family. He waited for Dean to finally admit to and embrace his own desires. He waited for Dean to see _he_ mattered. Bobby was still waiting.

"What's wrong with you? Have you got that low an opinion of yourself? Are you that screwed in the head?" Anguish consumed Bobby's features as tears welled in his eyes, his anger and love battling across his face. _I guess so._

He supposed it had something to do with Dean's horrible childhood, or lack thereof. Somehow Dean had bypassed the _me _phase most teenagers go through; taking on the role of protector and never allowing himself to be protected, to show any trace of vulnerability. Most young men have to learn to put others' needs before their own. Dean wasn't _most_ young men. Dean was always his _own_ man, except of course when he was blindly following his dad or stubbornly dismissing his own wants and needs for the benefit of his younger brother. Come to think of it, that left little time for him to _be _his own man. No wonder he had no practice, no experience, no drive to take care of himself. What is it the goddamn shrinks say? He needed to practice self-care? Like _that _was ever going to happen.

The young boy who held Bobby Singer in his sight that first day was already a protector; his kid brother huddled behind him, hands tightly gripping the tails of his big brother's shirt, eyes wide with fear. A fear that seemed to pass as soon as the older boy spoke, his voice soothing, full of confidence; comforting the younger and instilling a peaceful calm and faith that no harm would come to them. Bobby saw the strength that came over Dean when he assumed the role of front man, when he stepped between danger and his brother; the act of protecting his brother giving him the courage to face his own fears, unable and unwilling to show weakness in front of his kid brother.

In no time at all Dean had mastered the game of war, but somehow all his training never prepared him to survive the game of life. He never _had _a life to preserve, aside from his role within the family, apart from his job. Dean was the protector of John and Sammy, the cement that held his family together. That was all he had and all he ever wanted. All he ever allowed himself to hope for.

Bobby quickly learned Dean was single-minded and determined in his pursuit to kill evil; a pit bull snarling and posturing for a fight, the anticipation for the hunt fueling his passion, driving him forward, eager to strike. Dean knew evil was stalking his family and a first strike was the best defense. And he _knew_ he was at war, never able to forget that lesson he learned at the tender age of four. _Remnants of war._

When he'd first become acquainted with the Winchesters, Bobby had marveled at the strength of this young boy, his aptitude with weapons and fighting, and his unfailing courage at facing down evil. He had known many hunters over the years, but never one so adept at learning and so focused on fighting, so determined to _do the right thing. _A natural born hunter, but _what had become of the boy?_

Bobby didn't have long to ponder that question as the boy seemed to vanish overnight as Dean breathed in his dad's training, assuming his new role with ease. Within a few years Dean was a frightful warrior against the forces of evil, proving himself a man while still a boy. John's training turning a teen who should have been worried about pimples and prom dates into a formidable soldier ready and willing to take up arms to slay evil and protect his brother. Willing to surrender every piece of himself, including his life, for his brother, and no one stepped in to halt the insanity; John only condoning the behavior, praising his son for his dedication, inadvertently hastening his firstborn's descent into Hell.

Bobby always thought the end would come in battle, in a frightful maelstrom where Dean would throw himself between his brother and some encroaching evil. He always thought Dean would die a swift and brutal death protecting his brother with his last gasp for breath: a hero's death, a noble sacrifice, some bold action that would surrender his life so his brother could be miraculously saved against all odds. He never imagined _this_, never foresaw _this_.

Under the circumstances, after living with the repercussions from John's unholy deal one would think Dean would never….

_Desperate times, desperate actions._

Hell…, Dean had been shattered by John's actions, tormented with the knowledge he lived because his dad died for him. And not just died, walked into Hell where countless enemies were sure to inflict their wrath on him, aside from the whole fire and brimstone locale. Bobby never considered Dean would turn around and inflict the same pain on Sam, but Dean didn't see it that way. He couldn't. He could only see his own unbearable pain, and he could see only one way out.

"Bobby, don't you see?" His voice breaking, the unbearable alternative still enacting a painful reminder of what might have been, what _would have been_ without this deal. "I'm not even supposed to _be_ here. At least this way, my life can mean _something._" Dean's eyes pleading for understanding, for acceptance, for approval….

_Too bad John's not around to kick his butt. Guess I'll have to do…._

Bobby should have known Dean would have offered up _anything _to save his brother, unable to face a life alone with no one, unable to accept he had failed in his duty. Dean had never _been_ alone, never been without his family, and he had never failed to complete a mission. It shouldn't be such a great surprise he now offered up his soul. Bobby should have seen it coming. Hell, he _had_ seen it coming all these years, been _waiting_ for it. _Why the hell did I leave him alone? Why the hell didn't I stay and stop him?_

Over the course of all these years, Bobby had watched and waited for destiny to inflict its final wrath on Dean Winchester. He knew it was predetermined from his first glimpse into Dean's eyes. Eyes resolved to do anything necessary for his brother. Years of care and worry over Dean's fate still couldn't temper the shock when the truth was revealed. Years of guiding the young hunter, mentoring him, and hoping for the best, culminating in the realization the time had finally come. He should have foreseen this; he shouldn't have left Dean alone with the body like he did. He should have….

Damn it all! What is it with you Winchesters? So willing to throw yourselves down into the pit. So willing to sacrifice yourselves for each other… for the world… for mankind… for any innocent who happens into the path of some evil son of a bitch. Well, life's a bitch… and for Dean, _that_ was an understatement. The deal was done; the only thing left now was to wait for the devil to collect his due.

_One year. One year of life. Had Dean ever even had that before? Had he ever __allowed__ himself to actually live? For himself?_

Even now, Dean's focus was on the job, the business of killing this yellow-eyed Demon. His only concern protecting his kid brother, leaving the small matter of his eternal soul insignificant, inconsequential, irrelevant.

"Bobby, I've got nothing to lose now. Right? We've got to find this yellow-eyed son of a bitch. That's why I'm going to kill him myself. I've got one year to make sure Sammy's safe. One year to give him back his normal life. One year."

_You stupid ass! You really think Sam would just go back to school after his only living kin, his only brother, goes off to burn in Hell? You don't know your brother at all, do you? Well, I guess that's typical with you Winchesters 'cause he never knew you, never realized the lengths you'd go to to save him, never saw the stupid, fucking lack of self-worth. Damn it, Dean!_

If Bobby thought John was an aggravating bastard, what was he supposed to think of Dean? Like father, like son? Dean _was_ like a son to him, a comfort and remembrance of his own son lost so many years before in a war that had no meaning. Dean claimed he wanted his life to mean _something_. He had looked Bobby straight in the eye and said this deal at least gave him a purpose, a reason for being. _Like saving hundreds of innocents and killing every evil son of a bitch he ever encountered didn't make his life valuable?_

Damn that boy! Can't he see how much he's already done? What is it with his failure to see his own worth? John…. look what you've done to your son. I know _why _you did it. On more than one occasion, over way too many drinks, you anguished over Dean's role in all this. How he had to be strong enough to protect Sammy. How the Shtriga incident could never again happen, and it wouldn't 'cause Dean had stepped up and focused on his training and you knew his pride would never let him fail you again. How Sammy was special, desired by the Demon, and how he needed to be protected at all cost.

Even _this_ cost? John, how could you let one son sacrifice himself for the other? Who was there to protect _Dean?_ How's Sam going to feel about all this? How's Sam gonna _live_ with this?

"You can't tell him, Bobby. You take a shot at me, whatever you gotta do. But _please_ don't tell him."

_Secrets. Lies. Sacrifice. _

_The Winchester Creed. _

What _was_ wrong with Dean? He'd already asked the question, why couldn't he hear the answer?

"Haven't I given enough? Haven't I paid enough? How much more do you expect? Huh?"

_I never expected this, Dean._ Nobody ever expected you to die for your brother, least of all Sam.

So now Bobby waits as the seconds tick away, months turning into weeks and finally days. Dean's life coming to an end. He waits for Dean to die and fulfill his last promise, surrender his soul, and descend into Hell as his bill comes due.

Dean's not worried whatever the outcome. _Sammy's alive_. That's all that matters. On that fateful first day Sam had sworn he'd find a way to save his ass and that had made Dean smile, the burden of salvation finally shifting off his strong but weary shoulders, his job complete. Sammy was saved. Three hundred and sixty-three days later, Dean has now found faith in Sam, just like Sammy had always placed his faith in Dean.

After years of battles and struggles, and seemingly insurmountable odds the Winchesters were still hanging on, fighting the good fight and like in the beginning Sam holds Dean's life in his hands, only this time he's not letting go.

Dean waits for Sam to find a loophole, some way out to save him, and Bobby hopes he can because Dean deserves to live, even if he can't see it. _Especially_ since he can't see it.

Every book and scrap of knowledge Bobby can pull together is scoured through looking for a means to sway the outcome of this God awful deal. Bobby waits for Sam to stand up to the plate and save his brother and he prays his swing is true 'cause the Winchesters _have_ given enough and they've only got one shot at this.

Bobby's buried too many friends and evil has enacted too high a toll in this war. For once they need to slay this dragon and win. So he waits for a miracle and hopes the powers that be intercede for Dean. Dean's cheated death before; he needs to do it one more time. _Just one more time._

More demons are out there and the war is still being fought. They need Dean in this battle; the world is depending on him. And once all those demons are vanquished then maybe the world will be safe. Maybe there's a chance for peace in their lifetimes, in Dean's normal, _long_ lifetime. A lifetime that should come to a natural close with a fragile, old man still cocky and bold recalling his days of glory with a smirk on his lips and a glint in his eye; reminiscing about his exploits alongside his brother back when they saved the world.

After all, Dean's waited his entire life for a chance to live free of the pain and maybe now there's a glimmer of hope with the yellow-eyed Demon dead; a hope for the Winchesters and the world.

The End

"_In the end there are three things that last: faith, hope and love; and the greatest of these is love." _- Paul the Apostle, 1 Corinthians 13:13

bjxmas May, 2007

All standard disclaimers apply. Thanks to Kripke and company for these amazing characters. Huge thanks to the four J's who bring their roles to vivid life. They are the true inspiration for all my stories.


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